


Comparing Notes

by handschuhmaus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Single Parents, Dad Bane, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Meet-Cute, Past Child Abuse, Pets, Self-Indulgent, Slice of Life, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Characters, Well sort of anyway, also there's a partial school lockdown BUT it's ONLY because a visiting animal got loose, brief verbal transphobia, in which the Jedi are a religious cult, papa Palpatine, unrealistic high school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: it's probably kind of like dream daddy except... except also very different?All of a sudden, Dooku, a high school teacher in a small town,keepsrunning into the parent? guardian? of a kid in the grade above his unofficial foster son Obi-Wan. And maybe, just maybe, there could be something there? That is, if they can get past the family history with the Jedi Church, andifall the kids get along, and...





	Comparing Notes

**Author's Note:**

> apparently I seem to think the world needs far more Sith themed fluff...
> 
> please have a meet-cute.

"Qui-Gon, please, you need to eat some breakfast," Dooku wheedled

"Mmmrmmph," the teenager groaned

And so he elaborated, in hopes of motivating Qui-Gon, "Because you don't have a car, so I have to get you to work before I and Obi-Wan get to school."

"I was trying to write a paper last night," Qui-Gon muttered, and rolled out of bed and onto his feet, somewhat awkwardly, like a ship in full cloth righting itself.

"For...?"

"History class," the teen answered, and stretched, much like a cat.

"Mr. Dooku, I spilled juice all over my backpack," Obi-Wan interjected. He was not yet comfortable with addressing Yan in a more familiar fashion, unlike Qui-Gon, who had been living with him for going on a decade. Dooku had no experience with seven year olds, though; Qui-Gon Jinn had been a very mature nine when Dooku had taken in his...sister's ex-boyfriend's aunt's stepdaughter's cousin. (All that really mattered was that they had been in the same church-slash-living-community at the time, and Qui-Gon had gotten along very poorly indeed with Father Yoda, a wizened and passionless old man.)

"How much of the orange juice did you spill?" Dooku asked, pinching the brow of his nose.

"Just my glass!" Obi-Wan protested, instinctively cowering backward, as if anticipating a punishment.

"Well," their parental figure said wryly, looking at the analogue clock in Qui-Gon's room, "we have...ten minutes to try to clean it up, as much as possible. You'll probably have sticky books."

"Sticky... books," Obi-Wan repeated uncertainty, and then brightened once he had processed that it was not a threat. Minor and accidental transgressions had been severely punished when he was living with the newly Reverend Jacob Kenobi, who Dooku thought must have been a worse single father than he was. 

"Try to wipe it off, and clean up with a damp paper towel," Dooku recommended, as the boy went down the hall after the backpack.

"Do you hear meowing?" Qui-Gon asked with a yawn, shamelessly removing his nightshirt in front of Dooku.

"Meowing?" Yan asked, but no sooner had he said that than he heard it, insistently. Rex, the old and very easy-going pitbull they'd inherited from Jocasta Nu when she had to move back home, gave a tired bark from the kitchen. 

"There's a cat outside, Mr. Dooku!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. 

"Perhaps it's lost," he pondered, as he made his way to the kitchen and dining room. 

He cautiously opened the back door to find an almost all black cat standing there. It had one half-white ear, one white paw, and a white tip to its tail, and was wearing a red collar printed with fire engines, the tag on which (he could see upon crouching down) proclaimed it to be named "Rocky". It rubbed up against his legs regally, entered the house without invitation, and then sauntered over to Rex, who gave an excited single bark but remained lying on her bed. Rocky stared at their dog for a moment, then, apparently deciding she was uninteresting, approached Obi-Wan. 

"Can I pet it?" Obi-Wan asked, the array of juice stained papers forgotten.

"Be careful. I think Rocky is someone's pet, but you are unfamiliar." 

"I'll just toast a waffle and grab this apple and I'll be fine." Qui-Gon said, appearing now fully dressed but with messy hair (he was growing it out, he said). 

"What have we discussed about protein at breakfast, Qui-Gon?" Dooku corrected gently.

"That if I don't eat any I get hungry around 9:30 and then I can't concentrate on class this afternoon and I end up eating random vending machine food as my whole lunch, which isn't a worthy habit for everyday" his eldest boy recited. "I'll have some peanut butter on my waffle, and a glass of milk. Will that satisfy you, _Dad_?"

A laugh danced at the edges of his face "The pertinent question, Qui-Gon, is will it satisfy _you_?"

"Did you put the tempeh in to marinate?" Qui-Gon asked suddenly, even as he started spreading peanut butter on the crisply toasted waffle. "Because if not--"

" _I_ did that. Mr. Dooku said it was good fractions practice if I wanted to, and an opportunity to try new foods." Obi-Wan said, with all the solemnity a seven year old could muster. He had finally gotten back to trying to clean up his homework (Dooku really should step in to help, no?) but looked away for this.

"Good show, Obi," Qui-Gon said, affecting received pronunciation, and quickly embraced the kid. 

Dooku put the cat out the door. "Shoo, Rocky. If you can't find your way home, _maybe_ you can stay with us tonight, but I'm not yet convinced you aren't just wandering in hopes of a snack or some extra attention."

The cat gave him an impudent look, but walked out as requested. 

Ten minutes later, Obi-Wan's books and papers were dabbed clean as best they could, Qui-Gon was tucking into the Golden Delicious, and all three of them were packing into Dooku's trusty blue sedan, only for Dooku to realize he'd forgotten his coffee. Oh well. Teachers' Lounge coffee it would be, then, with dubious powdered creamer.

They dropped Qui-Gon off at the local pharmacy, his workplace, and then Dooku parked the car in the teacher's lot and nudged the seven year old towards the other building that was Roosevelt Elementary School. The town was so small it had two school buildings, on the same grounds, and Dooku taught six math classes and a physics class every weekday in a basement room in Roosevelt Secondary, a two story concrete building housing 7th through 12th grades, the gym, and the medical office. They were only just not late this morning; so much for coffee. 

Freshman homeroom was as chaotic as usual and then they departed, headed variously for French, English, or shop class, and the seventh graders squeezed in for General Mathematics (and Pre-Algebra) I. He was still assigning then a dozen (quite simple) problems when the bell for first period rang. 

And an adult wandered into the doorway, once the children had filed out. An adult, friendly looking, shortish red hair, carrying a cardboard box of...cupcakes? Dooku blinked, not sure how to deal with this unexpected event, nor the lack of prompt return of many of his freshmen for Algebra II, without his customary morning caffeine. Had they somehow been scared off by this mystery guest, in chinos and a button-down (in small, tasteful floral)?

"Would you like a cupcake?" he was asked, impishly. 

"A--cupcake?" Dooku repeated.

"Mal estimated the number of children in his class _very_ badly," they (for Dooku, given his past, wasn't about to go guessing here) said by way of explanation. "They're yellow. With chocolate ...icing and extra chocolate chips on top"

Now another teacher looked into the classroom. "Oh. Hi," Mr. Ingles said, with his typical nonchalance and Minnesotan accent. He taught shop and the other three math classes (mostly business oriented), and senior Civics and Government. "It's a morning for accidents, I guess. Dust collection went poof, no sooner than Imani had prepped the bandsaw. There's sawdust all over the place, and the kids are still cleaning up the workshop--Stella's supervising. And the second floor is currently under lockdown."

That got his attention. "Lockdown? What happened? Are they in danger?"

"What? Oh, no." The ex-Minnesotan scratched his beard. "Ms. Perez had a special guest for her unit on birds, and they brought in a falcon and something happened and it got loose in the hallway. Just in case, they aren't letting anyone move around up there until they catch it."

"Cupcake, Arne?" the stranger, who had walked a few feet into the classroom so the teachers could more comfortably converse, asked.

"Oh, don't mind if I do, Palpatine," Ingles said. (So that was the name.) But then he retracted his hand. "Although...it's cherry crumble day in the cafeteria."

"No. No, it's not." Mme. Bouchard, their other northerner, corrected, from the hall. "In _another_ accident, they left the frozen fruit out and they had to cook it so it would not spoil."

"I'll take a cupcake, then," Arne agreed, and Dooku accepted one, too, biting through silky chocolate to reach rich cake, with perfect sweetness. 

"I'm too full," said Veronique, "we had a huge breakfast this morning; John and Ame are going on a hunting trip." Dooku had never dared ask the French teacher for parenting advice, when Ame and Leon seemed so wonderfully well adjusted and unperturbed, untouched by the insidious doctrine of the Jedi Church. And she had John, too. Worse, he still wasn't sure how she (or Arne) would regard his history and transition, preceding his hire here, but still local.

"Is Stella's classroom on the second floor?" Palpatine asked, eyeing the remaining row and a half of cupcakes (a dozen, Yan thought). Stella Jones-Ingels, MA European History, taught every history class and social studies class except the government class her husband taught. If the Ingels knew Palpatine, they had made no introduction to Dooku, but the stranger certainly seemed familiar with them.

Mr. Ingels shook his head. "Oh, no, yah, but she's in the woodshop. And sawdust doesn't mix too well with cupcakes."

"I'll try the office, then--" and if Palpatine said anything further it was drowned out by an unscheduled bell, and a subsequent intercom announcement, piped only to other rooms and so indistinct from 128, the math classroom. As soon as it ended, there was the all too typical roar of students in the halls. 

Dooku mentally reviewed his coworkers' schedules. "Veronique, could you possibly take the first five minutes of my class? Hectic morning, haven't had any coffee."

"Oh, mais non. Pardon, mon ami, but I have to meet with Saul," and yet Mme. Bouchard smiled at him.

"Gee, I would but I can't, Yan," said Mr. Ingels, folding his cupcake wrapper neatly for the trash

Dooku frowned as Barbie Phelps, his most improved but still in need thereof algebra student, peered in. At the moment, even with the sweet hint of chocolate persisting on his tongue, he resented this Palpatine for bringing cupcakes around to the staff, if there was any way the students might grow envious. And it seemed there would still be no coffee. 

"But she started it!" A young voice said, right outside the room. One Dooku recognized as one of the homeroom freshmen.

"Now, dears--" Veronique began, only to realize that Saul Brendam, Vice-Principal, was there, and looked very unhappy. 

"Go to algebra class, Miss Neumann, and leave this ...matter to rest. I will get in contact with your...guardian," Brendam told her.

Mmm. Zana Neumann he had marked for a troubled child, and one far more inclined to acting out than Qui-Gon had been. 

And...the source of the trouble, clear as soon as he walked in dressed like...that (no one would wear some sort of ...prom gown to classes!), was Valen Farfalla. He was a junior, having opted to precede the requisite algebra with geometry and before that, Arne's Business Math I. He was also a headache, and young, and foolish, and almost certainly on the verge of, well, creating a transphobic incident even though he probably meant well. Because he had said little things before, within Dooku's earshot, because he also knew Zana was, for reasons to which he was not privy, very defensive about transgender rights, even though she had walked into the one school Gay Straight Alliance meeting he'd been to and insisted she was cis and straight and all.

Palpatine at least had the sense to re-cover the box and hold it out of view, as Barbie and half the rest of the class filed in. Only Zana and Valen remaining standing near the door, along with, incidentally, a quarter of the building's teaching staff and the apparently random parent. 

"Look, being this ...stunning as a woman doesn't make me one," Valen said, and inwardly Dooku seethed in a way not really appropriate towards a student, and wished the futile wish that Qui-Gon, ever patient, ever protective of his family, were here. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jamie Boone biting ...his lip nervously and worrying the very subtle earrings ...he had gotten recently, or at least the one on the side Valen couldn't see well. A student Valen's enmity was hurting.

Palpatine, interestingly, caught Yan's eyes briefly, with a concerned look. More evidence towards the hypothesis?

"Oh?" Dooku said in a low and dangerous voice. "What do you mean by that?" Probably not the best way to approach the situation, but one impelled by his own background.

"I've dealt with it!" Vice-Principal Brendam interjected with some irritation. "The girl was harassing him, and I've called her guardian." He was certainly short-tempered this morning.

"Are you always so up in arms about misgendering?" Palpatine asked Valen, perfectly friendly, and well-calculated to tip him off balance. And now Dooku really would have to ask, which... tended to be awkward with cis people, and so was not a habit.

"I--what?" Valen spluttered. "Anyway, wearing your flannel and cargo pants doesn't make you a man," he tossed at Zana. 

"No," Zana agreed, but brandished an icy smile. "But none of it's necessary for any gender."

"What would it cost you, kid, to accept that 'there are more things on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy'?" Palpatine asked.

"I don't care what you do, you can't change your chromosomes. _Not_ that I'd be rude about it, but the fact of the matter is, they're still men and you're still a woman and..." Valen trailed off, though without any decline in pomposity, and the thought came on Dooku, with the accompanying threat of a headache, that Valen was still in the Jedi Church.

Roger Blake, the class clown, and would-be-football star of the only tenuously existent team, laughed at that, if without mirth. Whether it was meant to be cruel, or who it was directed at, he wasn't sure.

"I'm not trans." Zana told him firmly. "But go on, show how unsafe you are for anyone who might be thinking about coming out..." Perhaps Zana did not know, then? Or else she did not want to out Dooku, whom she seemed to like, as a trans man?

Yvonne Daley, who was also one of the Jedi, and Yoda's cousin somehow, interjected, "Valen, you _are_ being rude." She had, apparently, never struck Dooku or his boys as mean, and she was Valen's age, thanks to her late fall birthday and last year's scheduling difficulties taking both Spanish I and Japanese I. And for all that Valen didn't reply, the teacher calculated with some certainty that things were not going to be settled here.

"I told you to break it up," Brendam complained, with an air of futility.

"Look, Saul," Dooku said, "An insensitive and even rude remark might not actually be a provocation in response to something that, while not traditionally considered or superficially rude, is highly insensitive. Despite that," he turned to Valen, "I don't think a detention is going to demonstrate how hurtful your attitude is, and might even make you resent other, compassionate viewpoints further. And," his voice rose sternly, emulating the one that, sad to say, had always gotten Yoda results, "it is time for class!"

Zana plunged into her seat and plucked up her textbook from her backpack; Yvonne also turned to the section they were covering. Even Barbie sat down. Palpatine's mouth quirked with something like amusement, and then the purveyor of cupcakes left the classroom, box in hand, brushing past Arne and Veronique, who also nodded goodbye and left. Valen reluctantly took his seat, pouting, but he seemed attentive and even answered some of the questions as Dooku launched into an explanation of logarithms.

A good two hours later, Trigonometry/Pre-Calculus concluded, and just as Dooku was about to head to the cafeteria for lunch, and, at this point probably tea for _some_ caffeine, there was, of all things, a knock on the doorframe of the open classroom door. 

"Come in," he instructed hesitantly, and was greeted with the sight of a huge and muscular man, only _just_ fitting under the doorframe without ducking his shaven head. He wore a tee-shirt, jeans, and a canvas jacket of the sort sold to farmers and other outdoor workers. The shirt might have been new; the other garments were worn, though mostly clean. 

"I'm Dessel Neumann," he said, and extended a hand. 

The only possible answer to that seemed to be "Yan Dooku," albeit with a good deal of trepidation. Under almost any other circumstance, he probably would have found the man intense, compelling, not _necessarily_ scary, but there was a potential case to be made for his having to answer to this muscle-bound man.

"Zana's guardian. And adoptive dad." 

"I ...see," Dooku said, straining at politeness. 

"I heard she got in trouble today," Mr. Neumann reported, a hint of mountain twang coming into his voice. Yan was unsure how Zana's dad felt about this statement; he had known parents to get very angry when their child got into trouble, and at times like this there was no telling whether that anger would be expressed towards the teachers and/or staff, or (even worse) towards the kid. Either could be fearsome in the case of this man.

"Some people call me Bane, Mr. Dooku. Zana talks about you a lot. I came over here on my lunch break; I want you to know that when she's acting on principle I am fully behind her."

"In this case," Yan said, falling back onto an uneasy practiced politeness out of feeling rather intimidated, "so was I. Another student had made an ...insensitive comment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon, hopefully?


End file.
